


Dirty Secret

by Feeeshy



Series: Strange Desires [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amaurotines (Final Fantasy XIV), Angst, Bathing/Washing, Bisexual Female Character, Canon Dialogue, Character Study, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Fluff and Smut, Macro/Micro, Marking, Mood Swings, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Scholar Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Secret Relationship, Thoughts about death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25572976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feeeshy/pseuds/Feeeshy
Summary: Sequel to Royal Fetish, the Warrior of Light navigates trying to save the world while bedding the one trying to end it.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Series: Strange Desires [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853353
Comments: 81
Kudos: 284





	1. The Next Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place right where Royal Fetish left off, but switching to the Warrior of Light's pov.

“Hero.”

A quiet whisper pulled Meriel from the deepest sleep she had enjoyed in many moons.

_“Hero.”_

She nestled more into her pillow. Perhaps, whoever was calling for her with that familiar sardonic voice, they could deign to use her proper name for once. Then, perhaps, they would get a more immediate response.

She felt the gentlest of shakes at her shoulder, melting her brief flash of bitterness. That one like him could be so tendered—a second surprise she had learned about the Ascian, the first being how he clung to her after their coupling last night.

“What time is it?” Bleary eyes blinked open to a dim room. She could just make out the form next to her. Propped up on an elbow, the blankets had shifted down tantalizingly low, presenting all the lean muscles of his torso on display.

“’Tis morning, my dear,” Emet-Selch whispered. “The sun will rise before long, and your companions will surely be lost without their champion.”

She hummed in idle agreement, trying to find the mental fortitude to get out of the most comfortable bed she had ever slept in. Her brief dip into fantasy was over, and the arduous tasks of saving the world returned.

Rolling over to her back and laying her arm across her face, a question floated up in her mind. One she dreaded to ask, but the haze of sleep let slip.

“Will you tell them of this? Of us?”

She heard him scoff.

“I am not so crude. And, I am enjoying myself. I assume telling them of our liaisons would put a quick end to our meetings?”

“It would.”

Though, if it got to that point, the damage would already be done, and with little she could do to fix it. An uncomfortable thought, one she’d rather not dwell—

“So _readily_ you admit to wanting future trysts with me.”

His voice dripped with smug satisfaction at having caught her accidental confession. She lowered her arm and peered over at him through the dark, the glare she managed weakened by her morning lethargy. His lips turned up in a smirk.

“I am not opposed, mind,” he continued. “I’ve not had this much fun with a mortal in centuries, and I suspect from your previous eagerness that your bed has been empty for far longer than your liking.”

In the room’s quiet, all she could muster was a self-deprecating laugh. There was no denying it. She did so delight in the occasional one-night stands, and it had been so long since she last had someone that she could call upon without strings attached. Finding bedmates that didn’t put her on some pedestal, hailing her as a noble hero, was becoming harder and harder. She never wanted to sleep with anyone who burned with feelings she could not return.

Luckily, that problem did not lie with old Garlean emperors.

“We’ll keep this to just the physical,” he crooned, his hand sliding across her stomach as he moved closer to her on the bed. “Mutually beneficial relief. I’ll even continue to don the regalia when you desire it.” Stiffened, his arousal rubbed against her thigh. He mouthed along her bare shoulder, leaving wet, fiery kisses on her skin.

A moan escaped her as his hand cupped her breast. She silently cursed herself by how easily she could get worked up, but she had missed waking up in bed with another. One final romp before they went their separate ways, the perfect beginning to any day as far as she was concerned.

She spread her legs and urged him to get between, ignoring his breathless laugh, no doubt at her expense.

“My sweetest hero,” he purred into the crook of her neck as he lined himself up, pushing in with the same sluggishness that drove her mad last time. Dull pain throbbed as the mid swell of his length stretched her, her fingers digging into his back as she tensed. He stilled.

“Are you alright?” His hot breath ghosted over her shoulder.

“Yeah, s’fine. Keep going.”

_Gods_. He was one of the biggest men she had taken, filling her so fully. No wonder she was sore from last night, exactly as she hoped she would be.

Peppering kisses along her neck, he rolled his hips, sinking himself down to his base. With easy motions, he moved against her, their coupling hidden under thick, shuffling blankets. Now, with her lingering tiredness and not being worked up into a frenzy, she reveled in his unrushed pace. She savored his every ilm on his long draws out, the way his swollen tip pushed into her silken warmth on the return.

“What shall I call you,” she sighed, “when we’re in bed without pretense? Emet-Selch or Solus?”

He groaned into her shoulder.

“You can call me whatever you please”—he snapped his hips into her, eliciting from her a delighted yelp—”as long as you’re under me.”

Leaning back, his hands tenderly pushed her thighs further apart, spreading her for his view. Even in the dark, she saw the gold of his irises glitter, roaming over her exposed form with a hungry glint. 

“Touch yourself,” he whispered, his voice low, commanding. “I want to watch you find completion while spread around me.”

A hot flush burned her cheeks—she treasured when a partner delighted in the depraved as much as her. Her fingers slid between her legs, briefly dipping down to feel their slicked joining before moving up and swirling around her swollen clit. Aurum eyes followed her every movement.

“Good, good,” he licked his lips. “You like coming on an Ascian’s cock, Warrior of Light?”

Turing into her pillow to smother a moan, she nodded. Shame, delight, both mixed together to fuel the heat simmering low in her stomach.

_“Say it.”_ His pace grew fervent, riding her harder into the mattress. “Say you want to be undone by me.” 

She swallowed hard, trying to find her tongue despite the rising tide at her core.

_“I want you—”_ With a sudden sharp thrust from him, her own cry cut herself off. Driven by newfound vigor, he pounded into her, the stretch at her entrance aching at his relentless beat. Electricity and fire lit her every nerve, her body rocking under him, lost to his mercy. His thumb pressed her eager fingers harder to her clit, and she saw stars, ecstasy flooding through her.

Leaning forward to wrap his arms under and around her shoulders, he held her to his chest, his movements becoming erratic as she teetered on the brink of being overwhelmed under him. As his member buried deep, throbbing and pulsing, she felt his essence drip out at her entrance.

The heady scent of sex saturated the muggy room. While the fog of pleasure slowly cleared from her mind, he pressed soft kisses along her brow. 

“This may not be the most opportune time,” he started, an odd hesitation coloring his tone, “but I should ask if you have, ah, preventative measures?”

She blinked, taking a moment to come down from her high to catch his meaning.

“You needn’t worry about that,” she huffed, almost offended he would think her so careless. “I have ever been hopeful my luck with finding partners would change.”

He kissed her cheek and pulled away, sweat-slicked hair falling forward as he looked down at her.

“I really should be getting you back,” he mumbled. “Would you like to bathe here, first? I can have it ready in seconds.”

Her brows furrowed.

“There is a bath here?”

He snapped his fingers, setting a fire burning in the hearth and enveloping the room in a warm, flickering glow. Following his lazy hand wave in the new light, she saw an ornate wooden partition set in a corner with a clawfoot tub behind it. 

“Would have been quite unfitting for an emperor to not have a personal bath,” he explained.

Even though the reasonable part of her mind told her she needed to get back, a quick wash sounded _fantastic._ And his tub looked much bigger and nicer, with its pristine white basin and golden accents, than hers at the inn. She heard another snap and in a gust of aether the tub filled with steaming water, scents of flowery perfumes and fragrant soaps floating through the air.

“Big enough for both of us,” he offered, “unless you rather bathe alone. Matters not to me.”

He didn’t meet her gaze as he removed himself from her and got off the bed, feigning indifference to her decision. But she knew the hopeful upturn she heard in his tone was intentional. She had had partners like this before, clingy and wanting to attend to her needs afterwards. 

Normally, and especially if time was pressing, she did not indulge in such pampering, but long nights spent alone had worked their wear on her guards.

“I will take you up on that offer, Emet-Selch.” Sliding off the bed, she got to her feet. “And you may join me.”

The Ascian led her to the tub. Getting in first, he held out a hand to help her over the rim and into the waiting warm water. When she made to sit on the other end, he instead guided her to the spot in front of him, his long legs framing her on either side.

“So tense, even after all that,” he admonished, pressing his thumbs in circles along her spine and shoulders, working away the knots saving realms had put there.

Determined to not melt under his kneading fingertips, she set about washing herself. Even as she moved about, his hands stayed on her, rubbing and bathing and massaging whatever of her was in reach. When she leaned back to rinse her hair, his fingers found their way gliding through her floating locks, scratching at her scalp under the water.

“You are a more attentive bedmate than I first believed,” she confessed, looking up at him and enjoying the attention despite herself. “Not something I assumed from an Ascian.”

“Before, you were quick to leave,” Emet-Selch noted, watching her with tired eyes, “denying me the chance to show otherwise.”

She held her silence at that, adverting her gaze. Perhaps she had been too brusque with him, a failing of hers that previous bedmates had complained about.

When she was satisfied that she would spend the day smelling of a luxurious bath and not of sex and Ascian, she laid back against him.

“Where are we?” she asked, letting her head rest against his chest, soaking in the fragrant water. “I gather by our hence undisturbed time here, we aren’t in the Garlemald palace.”

“Clever hero,” he hummed, rubbing his hands down her arms. “But you are correct. It is beyond my abilities to transfer you, body and soul, across the rift. So instead, I have taken you to a space in the inbetween that I have magicked into looking like the old bedchamber.”

Through his level tone, she heard the faintest hint of a boast.

“Same with the throne room, I imagine?”

“Mhm.”

“Quite the convincing illusion,” she said as she sank to her chin in the water, feeling the comforting warmth embrace her whole body. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so at ease.

“Thank you,” he chirped. “I’m rather proud of it. It’s enough for our purposes, at least.”

In that moment, Meriel felt a pang of guilt. The Ascian had done so much for her, indulged her so fully, far beyond what any partners had given before. Far beyond what she ever _would_ expect from a bedmate. To repay him, if only an ilm, seemed fair.

Carefully, so as to not spill any water over the side, she moved to the other end of the tub and faced him.

“Would you want me to bathe you, as well?"

The words felt strange in her mouth. Such an intimate offer was not in her nature, and her stomach tightened at the worry that she looked a fool.

He blinked at her like a lost owl. Evidently, he had also not expected this. 

As if afraid his clever tongue might let slip something that would change her mind, he silently moved over to sit with his back to her lap. Her clumsy fingers struggled to imitate the massage he had given her, but she felt woefully ineffective as they rubbed across his muscular back. While he set to washing, she tried to help as best she could with her unpracticed hands.

He leaned back to rinse his hair as she had, face haloed by the small bubbles on the water’s surface. Her fingers scratched at his scalp in the soothing way he had done for her and this, at least, she was better at. With his eyes closed, the smallest of smiles upturned the corner of his mouth.

“You usually aren’t one for such comforts, are you, hero?”

Her brows furrowed. 

“Rarely do I have the time for such matters. Or the energy.”

“I think it would do you well to indulge more in things like this.”

She only hummed idly at that. Emet-Selch looked so serene under her as she ran her fingers through his floating auburn locks. That he was the same conquering emperor she had seen in history books beggared belief.

“Would you like me to return you now?” he asked after her silence lapsed for too long, golden eyes peering up at her.

She worried her lip between her teeth and nodded.

⸻

After a quick dry off with over-fluffed towels, they dressed. Then, with her snug to his side, a cold trip through the portal found them in her dim room. A clear sky greeted her through the window, the rising morning sun casting long, golden rays across the wooden floor. That the world still seemed calm despite her absence relieved a slight weight from her shoulders.

“Well, hero,” Emet-Selch cleared his throat, “the next time you wish for my company, you need only whistle. Though, I suspect we will see each other well before then.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Until then, Ascian.”

She turned away to gather her things plopped by the door yesterday, hoping he would get the hint to leave her be now. After a moment, she heard a portal open and close behind her.

Setting her bag atop her bed, she changed out of yesterday’s clothes. Stepping into a clean skirt, she frowned. His armor from last night had left more than just fantastic fingerprint bruises—small, thin cuts laid haphazardly along her pale inner thighs, no doubt from the metal tassets digging into her. Stockings for today, then.

As she stood fully dressed before her mirror, examining herself for any other wayward markings, the reality of all she had done settled on her. A blush threatened to color her cheeks. Rarely had she had a bedmate satisfy her so thoroughly, but, she supposed, that was an unfair comparison. None before had been actual royalty to scratch _that_ itch.

“Strange bedfellows you take.”

The ghostly shade of Ardbert stepped into her peripheral vision, his voice sounding neither condemning nor condoning. Meriel froze, holding down the immense knot forming in her stomach. _That someone already knew of this_ —she shook her head to clear that train of thought away. Steeling herself, she hoped a short, clipped explanation would leave no room for doubt.

“I’ve strange tastes. He happens to satisfy them. Nothing more.”

“A lot of trust you put into that Ascian to bring you back.” Now sounding more cross, Ardbert strode in front of her when she refused to face him. “What if he had decided to just keep you wherever you two were?”

“I appreciate your concern, truly, but I am more than capable of taking care of myself.” A heated indignation simmered behind her measured words.

“I bloody well know that, but he is an _Ascian_ and there would be none that could help if you—if _he_ had not been so charitable.” 

Her mind raced on how to argue this. She understood his apprehension, better than most would. Both of them had their misfortunes with Ascians and, _hells_ , Ardbert wasn’t even aware of Emet-Selch’s expansive role on the Source. But his was a forbidden delight she was keen to taste again, be damned whatever the reasonable part of her contended.

“I would beg of you, then, to trust me,” she started slowly, her stare holding his, “since I know you cannot trust him. We have an understanding, Emet-Selch and I.”

“You truly believe him?” The genuine worry in his tone chipped at her anger. “That this is not some scheme he has set against you?”

“You can rest assured that I am ever on the lookout for such treachery. Just _please,”_ she faltered, voice falling to a strained whisper, “allow me this comfort.”

Unable to hold his gaze, Meriel looked away, choosing instead to study the grain of the wood in the floorboards. Moments passed in heavy silence.

Finally, crossing his arms, Ardbert relented.

“Well, what’s done is done. Not much I can do to stop you, anyroad.” When she peered up, his blue eyes softened, but the worry still weighed heavily on his brow. “Just be careful, yeah?”

She gave a curt nod.

“I always am.”

A sharp knock drew both their attention.

“Meriel?” Alisaie’s impatient voice came from behind the door. “Are you awake yet?” 

The Scholar glanced at Ardbert, who shrugged.

“This is the second time they’ve come around. They’ve just assumed you’ve been asleep.”

Another round of knocks at the door, calling for her. With a deep breath in, she pushed away all her lingering thoughts of the Ascian, of all her worries and fears and whatever damnable feelings Ardbert had just conjured up.

With a long breath out, she started towards the door, ready to once again become the Warrior of Light.


	2. Evergreen Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The duo stumble into setting some boundaries.

The group had only just made it into the Rak’tika swamplands when they heard soft footsteps approaching from behind. Meriel turned in time to see Emet-Selch saunter past, stopping a little ways in front of them. With a flare of the dramatics, he threw his arms wide, and began to speak. 

_“‘No lands must remain beyond our grasp_. _’”_

Her breath caught. 

_“‘Go forth. Conquer. Rule!’”_

Heat crept over her cheeks and ears. _Godsdamn him_.

“Forgive me.” The slouch returned to Emet-Selch’s shoulders as he turned back. “A sudden pang of nostalgia for those halcyon days.” With a glint of mirth in his eyes, he leveled a wicked smirk at the Scholar.

Thancred spoke up, making some remark that went unheard over the drumming in Meriel’s chest. No one seemed to notice the flush blooming on their hero’s face.

Eventually, the group settled on having the Ascian quietly follow along. Walking in step with him, she focused on keeping her expression neutral, but she intended to have words with him about _that_ little performance later.

⸻

Soft leaves and damp grass quieted Meriel’s footsteps through the ancient forest. She walked at an even pace, enjoying the respite from the day’s excitement. After their initial greeting at the ends of arrows, the people of Slitherbough showed themselves to be a warm and generous community. Always a welcomed find in such a desolate world.

To repay the Night’s Blessed for their hospitality, Meriel volunteered to help gather a tricky ingredient for the evening meal. Though, it was only an evening meal in name—the sky above burned bright with ethereal Light. Its presence penetrated even the dense treetop canopy above, with pools of light spilling along the forest floor. An ever-present reminder of how much work she still had to do. Of how much of this world still laid on the brink.

She shook her head, clearing away the sour thoughts, and instead focused on the positive. To finally see Y’shtola again—a warmth bloomed in her chest at just the thought. Having known the Miqo’te woman since Meriel’s days working as an assessor in Limsa, her absence was sorely felt. 

After picking her way through some particularly dense underbrush, she heard the telltale sounds of a portal opening some fulms away. With a sigh to fight back a smile, she slowed her footsteps.

“Care for some company on your woodland stroll?”

Emet-Selch’s long strides quickly caught up with her. Meriel shot him a weak scowl, but time had eased her earlier annoyance with him.

“You needn’t fret. I made sure no one was around,“ he offered, as if that was the problem. 

Coming upon a large, fallen limb in their path, she watched as he hiked up his skirts to step over it. How he was not sweltering under the many layers of regalia in the humid swamp air was a puzzle. Even her light Scholar gear proved to be too much, having left her outer coat back in Slitherbough.

“Have I come at a bad time?” he ventured to ask, offering her a gloved hand. She took it, though she didn’t need to, and with his help stepped over the rotting wood. 

“You are cross with me about something,” he finally guessed at her prolonged silence, keeping her hand held in his as she stood before him. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her fingers.

“Don’t do that again,” she said. He made a questioning hum. “Tease me so openly in front of them.”

“Oh, my dear hero, was that truly enough to upset you?”

 _“It’s just—,”_ she started, looking up at him, then caught herself. At the memory alone, of seeing him play the role of Solus zos Galvus outside of the bedroom, before others—the heat of a blush already threatened her cheeks. With a long breath in, she tried to regain her composure.

“Yes?” he prodded, curiosity peaked.

Pulling her hand from his, she started walking again. He kept in step with her.

“Seeing you like that,” she mumbled, “it’s too much for me.”

His face split with a sly grin. Mischief and mirth danced in his golden irises as they caught the scattering of Light from above.

“Shall I tell you more of my conquering years? Regale you with tales of leading Legati into the snowy battlefields of Ilsabard?” A hand found her hip, and he pulled her in closer as they walked.

“Or perhaps,” his voice lowered as he leaned in, “you would like to hear of all the courtesans I invited to my chambers?”

She brought her hand to her face, trying to hide the growing flush on her cheeks and the small smile on her lips.

“I imagine yours was an easy bed to keep warm.”

“You could say that I never wanted for company in my younger years,” he purred, an obvious brag.

Before she knew it, they came to the spot that Runar indicated her quarry would be. A large, hollowed downed tree lay on the forest floor with its yawning expanse opening to a small clearing. Meriel slowed to a stop, leaning into Emet-Selch’s one-armed embrace.

“What menial task has sent you out here?” he asked, peering around. “Another waste of your time, no doubt.” 

“I volunteered to get an ingredient for dinner. A herb that grows on the back of a creature known as a snapmint.” 

He hummed in idle thought.

“Will they notice if you are a few minutes late?” He looked down at her, the hand at her hip tightening and pressing her more to his side.

Not daring to look up lest his golden eyes tear down what little resolve she had, she steeled herself.

“Unfortunately,” she ground out. Willing her breath to level, even as his scent filled her senses, _Gods, why did he smell so good, like licorice and firewood—_ “They are waiting for me. If I am gone for too long, they will worry, and ask more questions than I would have answers for.” 

Summoning every onze of strength in her lithe form, she stepped away from the Ascian. Near desperate to distract her mind, she dug around in her bag. She produced a small vial, the bait Runar had given her to lure out the leafy creature.

“Tell me, hero,” Emet-Selch chirped as Meriel walked to the middle of the glade. “For one with such an _appetite_ as yours, I’m surprised you don’t seek your companions for succor.” In his delighted tone, it was clear that her immense struggle to turn down his offer didn’t go unnoticed.

“I did, when I first joined the Scions.” She uncorked the bottle and poured the sickly sweet smelling liquid onto the grass. “Thancred and I had a similar arrangement to what you and I have now. Pleasure with no strings attached.”

“Really? That brute?” He cocked an amused brow as she walked to the shade of the fallen tree to wait for her prey. The Ascian followed close behind. Standing side-by-side, they both looked out to the clearing. “And whatever happened with that?”

“Lahabrea.”

His entertained smirk fell away at the mention of the other Ascian.

“Oh yes, that’s right...” There was an edge to his tone as he trailed off in thought. He crossed his arms. “If you don't mind sharing, what happened, exactly? Did Lahabrea…?”

A snapmint appeared through a ruffling bush. More plant than beast, its leaves rustled with trepidation as it looked around from the far boundary of the clearing. Meriel removed her codex from its fastenings at her hip and watched, waiting for it to move out into the open to get a clear shot.

“One day,” she started quietly, “after Thancred had returned from a prolonged job, I went to his quarters with amorous intent. Now, I suspect he was Lahabrea by this point, as I was straddling his lap when— _hold on.”_ The snapmint lunged out into the clearing towards the puddle of nectar. But before she could get a spell off, the leafy beast burst into a ball of flames before her, floating to the ground in a dusting of ash. Her brows furrowed in annoyance as she pivoted around to face the Ascian.

“That was the creature I needed—!”

_“Did you sleep with Lahabrea?”_

With a demanding desperation on his tongue, Emet-Selch bore down upon her, making her keenly aware of their height difference. His expression set in harsh lines and eyes blown wide with a sudden fury, he looked every bit the cruel conqueror that Eorzean history books painted him as.

And Meriel hated how she loved the flutterings in her stomach at the sight.

“I fail to see how whomever I slept with in the past overly concerns you.” She stepped back, keeping her weapon in hand. Guarded, she started taking a mental stock of her surroundings, lest she had need of a quick exit. 

“Do not mistake me, I care not for what you do with other mortals.” With a step forward, he noticed the deliberate step back she took. Leaning away, closing his eyes and dragging a hand down his face, he let out a long, weary sigh.

 _“Lahabrea_ is the one I’m upset with, not you,” he clarified after giving himself a moment to think on his words more carefully.

At his controlled tone, she straightened her stance with some hesitation. Shutting her book, she held it tight to her chest.

“Then you would be happy to know that he was a gentleman. That night, Thancred had been unusually flustered and reserved at my advances and, ultimately, declined my company and put an end to our arrangement.” She cleared her throat and turned away, feeling a bit embarrassed at the story now that she had told it so plainly.

“And you think this was Lahabrea, and not you Scion friend?” While calmer, his eyes still bore into her, as if making sure to not miss any detail of her account.

“After everything, I asked Thancred about it. He had no recollection of calling off our relationship, so one can only assume it wasn’t him who turned me away.” 

Emet-Selch let out a long-held sigh, his shoulders relaxing more into his slouch.

“Lahabrea wouldn’t have known, I suppose...” Looking out to the forest with a distant stare, his voice gave way to quiet contemplation.

“Wouldn’t have known...what?” Meriel tilted her head in question. She waited patiently for his wayward thoughts to return the suddenly melancholy Ascian back to the forest.

“What was it you needed from that beast?” His brows pinching together slightly, he waved a lazy hand at the still smoking ashes heap. 

“A-a handful of its leaves,” she stuttered, taken aback by the sudden subject change. “But now I have to wait for another, if you did not scare them all away.”

With a flick of his wrist and a snap of his fingers, a gust of aether brought a small pile of the ashes to his hand, reforming in his palm into the minty leaves of the snapmint. 

“My apologies, hero.” Drawing himself to his full height, he handed her the herbs. His expression remained stony as she accepted his offering. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” she corrected sharply, indignation lending a bite to her words. “But were you really so bothered because I might have slept with another Ascian? Nabriales was quite the flirt. Were circumstances different, I think he would have happily taken me to bed if I had approached him.” She wouldn’t have actually bedded Nabriales, but Emet-Selch needn’t know that, and it was an easy, if not petty, jab.

He tensed again and looked away. Meriel heard him mumble something that sounded like a decisive threat against the already slain Ascian. 

After stubbornly refusing to explain the magicks he used to reconstitute the burnt leaves, they started back towards the settlement. Emet-Selch kept strangely quiet as they picked their way through the forest. Soon, they stood before the dense undergrowth he had first joined her at. The Ascian looked down at the Scholar with eyes that betrayed a deep fatigue, and crossed his arms. A defensive gesture, she realized.

“I hope my brief outburst hasn’t sullied our budding partnership?”

She thought back to earlier, to the butterflies in her stomach his intense gaze brought about. 

“Well, no,” the words rolled with uncertainty off her tongue. “But if you wish to continue our meetings, such blatant jealousy is wholly unwelcome.” 

“Of course. From now on, however, when we are alone I would ask that you refrain from mentioning my fellow Ascians. In any capacity.”

She nodded. Easy enough to abide by, if otherwise caused him such distress.

“And what of you, hero?” Meriel perked up at his sudden query. He gave her a lopsided shrug. “I’ve a long history as Solus. As flattering as your eagerness is, surely there must be something you would rather avoid hearing about?”

Her jaw set tight as she stared at him.

Loathed as she was to admit it, there was one thing. A single person.

Ever since her fascination with the Founding Father of Garlemald began, this was the only subject she categorically avoided. A person whose mere existence lit a terrible fire in her chest. From whence this came, she didn’t know. It was entirely unreasonable, unfair even, the woman had done her no wrong, and yet—

It was jealousy, bright and burning. No different from his display before.

“You can tell me of battlefields and whoring, and I will listen to it all with rapt attention. But—” Ashamed at the admittance, her voice dropped to a whisper as she looked away. “Do not ever speak to me about the Empress.”

She could feel his eyes on her, studying her. A heavy quiet permeated the air as he took in her request.

“You have my word.” A smile laced his tone. In a manner far too gentle, he placed a hand on her shoulder and a kiss atop her head. “Until next time, my dear.” Mercifully quick, with a flash of a portal, he left.

The hero stood alone in the low hum of the forest, taking some moments to collect her thoughts in silence.


	3. Drumming

As if in slow motion, Meriel watched the antidote for the poison tumble towards the newly formed pit in the floor. Y’shtola jumped without a single thought to her own safety, grabbing the vial and tossing it into the waiting hands of the Warrior of Light. With a last glance at the hero, a sad smile played on her lips.

“Do not fail.”

Clutching the glass bottle close, Meriel could only stare as her friend disappeared into the inky black of the abyss below.

_“Shtola!”_

Meriel’s shrill cry echoed off the stone walls of the cavernous room. A tremble wracked her body at the answering silence.

_Again._

Another loss. Another friend’s sacrifice. Her breath hitched as her teeth ground together, her eyes screwing shut.

_What is a hero worth if she cannot save those closest to her!_

“How noble. And pointless.”

Ran’jit’s indifferent voice pulled her from her mourning, setting determination erupting in her chest in its place. Stashing the bottle safely in her bag, she turned to face her fearsome opponent, squaring her feet. To get this antidote to those in need, at any costs, would be her guiding light to fight off the encroaching darkness.

⸻

It was the unsteady way Runar asked for ‘Master Matoya’ that nearly did Meriel in. As she explained to him what happened, she held her expression stoic, her voice level. Some would mistake her for cold, as no doubt Runar did, but she had been through this enough to know—this was how one kept themselves from breaking when the death of a friend still weighed heavy, raw. Ever-present. Near suffocating, if she allowed it. 

But she couldn’t. Not yet. Before the eyes of others, she needed to be the Warrior of Light, the pillar on which the hope of a world balanced. Only afterward, alone and behind closed doors, would she let the act fall away.

Runar begged to look for Y’shtola, but Meriel stayed his hand. A near bottomless pit meant to kill foolish trespassers had no chance of survival. A fact all of them had to settle with, better sooner rather than later. The only comfort in all this being that their friend’s sacrifice had not been in vain, the antidote successfully given to those stricken with the poison.

Emet-Selch’s surprise appearance only added another layer to Meriel’s steely facade—she’d be damned to the Seven Hells and back before she ever let him see her fall to pieces. After further discussion among the group, the realization that Y’shtola used Flow sent her mind racing. How to save her friend, what magicks could they possibly invoke, _where would they even look to find her, will she be hurt again—_

“Oh...very well. I’ll go and fetch her...”

The gentle voice of Emet-Selch quieted the escalating cacophony of her thoughts. Blinking, shocked, she could only nod as he handed her the aetherial lamp.

⸻

Emet-Selch and Meriel stood together, watching her fellow Scions, Y’shtola included, walk back toward Fanow.

“You saved her.” Spoken in a hushed reverence, the words barely escaped her lips. “Since I first began my life as an adventurer, I have lost many friends. And, for the second time, I thought I had lost her.” She turned and was surprised to see him listening with intent. A warmth in her chest quickened her pulse. “Y’shtola and I have known each other for several years, you understand.”

“Then I’m pleased that my gesture of goodwill is not going unappreciated.” He shrugged, but the usual sardonic cadence to his tone was missing. For someone who had just performed a feat she nigh considered a miracle, he couldn’t be more unfazed. Bored at it, almost, while she burned with a strange feeling, terrifying in its growing vibrancy.

“There must be something I can do to repay you—for this kindness.” She swallowed, her reserved charade crumbling. _Gratitude_ , that is what she told herself. That this drumming in her chest, this heat on her cheeks and shortness of breath as she gazed upon the Ascian, stemmed from the need to thank him. An immense debt had been incurred, after all. It was gratitude. Just gratitude.

_It needs to be gratitude._

Golden eyes beneath thoughtful brows pinned her in place as he studied her, thinking on her offer. Then, with the air of one who has come to some great decision, he straighten from his slouch and walked to her with careful steps. His hands caressed her face, gloved palms like silken fire against her skin as he held her. Hot breath rolled over her lips a second before he closed the space between them.

The vast forest around them, with all its murmuring creatures and beasts, faded at his slow, tender kiss. Unpracticed as she was in such delicate affection, she feared he would hear the thrumming of her heartbeat as she struggled to return it.

Far too soon, he broke away. She didn’t remember gripping the furs on his coat, and timidly unthreaded her fingers from it, rocking back down to her heels. He stepped aside and folded his arms in front of his chest, nodding toward Fanow.

“Run along now, dear hero. I’ll follow behind in a moment, so as to not raise any questions.”

There was a tinge of something to his tone, of forced detachment, but Meriel had not the strength to press him on it. Without another word, she turned and started up the worn path towards the treetop village.

The Rak’tika Lightwarden still needed to be slayed, she reminded herself, forcing her shaking legs to steady atop the damp leaves and snapping twigs underneath her hurried footsteps. The coming expedition demanded her attention, she reasoned.

After getting some distance ahead, she glanced back over her shoulder at the Ascian, to make sure he followed. Thoughts unknowable having taken him again, he still stood where she had left him, fingers upon his lips as he stared off into the distant trees. A pang of bittersweet longing shot through her.

_It is only gratitude_ , she begged of herself.


	4. This Will End in Tragedy

She should end this. This arrangement between them. Call it off.

_ “Oh gods! Emet-Selch—!” _

She should end this, she thought as her body rocked under him. As moans tumbled from her mouth with every snap of his hips. Even as her hands gripped at his shoulders, urging him down to lay flush against her.

Holding him close, but not close enough. Never close enough anymore.

A hand at the back of his head kept him in place, her fingers threading too tight in his hair. Desperate to keep the heat of him on her skin. Desperate to sear this moment into her memory.

His teeth found her shoulder, and the pain from the bite saved her from her thoughts.

“You’ve gone quiet.” His golden eyes studied her.

She didn’t know what to say, paralyzed by his calculating gaze. The wrong words from her could end this—but isn’t that what she wanted? Before this went too far?

This will end in tragedy.

She knew this. 

There was no other way when a hero and villain laid together.

She should end this, but asked him to spend the night with her instead.


	5. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heads up, this chapter contains some consent issues.

The next morning filled Meriel with regret upon her first waking moment.

Light sickness woke her before the sun rose. Hot pain started in her chest before spreading through her veins, nausea chasing shortly after it, making her curl into herself under the covers.

A soft mumbling sound from behind reminded her she wasn’t alone in her bed, and that added another twist in her stomach that she did not need.

Awaking together, in _her_ bed, in _her_ room. Not in his created playroom, nor was this some quick thing done in the shadows and swiftly parted from.

No, despite all their stolen moments, this was the first time she had allowed him to stay the full night in her room.

A stupid mistake. 

She knew it would be different with him. Everything else had been.

_Damnable man._

Emet-Selch stirred slightly next to her, hair mussed and his lips parted in a gentle sleep. Like this, he looked as comfortable under her blankets and on her pillows as if they were his own. 

She bit the inside of her lip hard enough to draw blood. It was too tender, all of this. The hesitation in her bones to leave the warmth of his side worried her. Such domestically was ill fitting, left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. Made her feel vulnerable, weak.

Carefully, she got out of bed to open the window. Fresh air is what she needed, she reasoned. Help clear away this tension in her chest and quell her quickening pulse.

Sitting on the window seat, she drew her knees to her chest and looked out onto the new morning. Having felled all but one of the Lightwardens, she knew her time with the Ascian was drawing to a close. Whatever his scheme turned out to be, it no doubt ended with that finality.

Another bout of pain. She could feel the aether churning under her skin, like a pot on the verge of a rolling boil.

She knew he would not stay its force when it finally took her.

  
  


⸻

  
  


The sun had risen above the mountains when a timid knock on her door drew her attention. A second later, her eyes darted to the form on her bed. 

Emet-Selch either slept like the dead or was an excellent faker.

Another knock, another moment of her watching, waiting, making sure he didn’t intend to make a scene. Then she quickly crossed the room before her guest could try again.

After making sure her nightgown wasn’t slipping off, she opened the door to her room just a sliver. Just enough to address whoever awaited her, but so they could not see inside.

The Exarch greeted her with his usual cheer, albeit tinged with hesitation. “Ah, I hope I haven’t woken you?”

“I’ve been up for a bit.” She tried to keep her voice low and got to the point. The sooner he let her be, the better. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes,” he chirped. “I thought to inform you that Y’shtola and Alphinaud have returned from Eulmore. They wish to hold a meeting later today on their findings, if you are...” His voice trailed off, but Meriel knew what he was getting at. 

“I feel fine enough. Give me a bit to—”

A rumbling groan, steeped in husky sleep, echoed from within her room and froze her blood. The sound of bed sheets rustling followed it.

The hairs on the back of her neck raised. Unable to hold her impassive demeanor, she dared to look upon the Exarch’s hidden face with raised brows.

A blush that matched his robes crawled up his neck.

“P-pardon me,” he stumbled over his words, taking a half step away. His cane scraped against the floor. “I-I didn’t, ah.” He swallowed, then tried again. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

Another round of sleepy mumbling from within her room, too coarse from sleep for the Exarch to recognize. Meriel spit out an apology before closing the door on the other man. He’d understand. No matter who was in her bed, he should know how mornings like this go. Should know now was not the time for her to entertain people at her door. 

To his credit, it did not seem like Emet-Selch meant to make a scene. With a knee bent up and still mostly under the covers, he rubbed a hand at his tired face.

“Ssomeone’s here?” Half-sleep slurred his words. Not a morning person today, it seemed.

Meriel sat on the edge of the bed, but he reached over and pulled her on top of him, moving her legs to straddle his hips. Much like what she did to him last night, his hands guided her down. She laid with her cheek pressed to him, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest. He stroked her hair, hand faltering as he dipped back in and out of sleep.

Her pulse drummed.

This was too much.

The bile of this tenderness rose in her mouth again, _treacherous affection—_

_But—_

She swallowed, but did not push away from him.

They laid together for several moments in uncomfortably comfortable silence until his head jerked slightly to the side. His eyes caught sight of something in the distance in her room, up near the ceiling. A smile, slow and creeping, spread across his lips.

“What is it? What’s that smirk for?” Meriel asked. She turned to see for herself, but saw nothing out of the ordinary in her room.

He twirled a lock of her hair loose around his finger, looking back to her with bright eyes. “The Exarch is watching us. With that toy of his.”

Without thinking, Meriel tried to jolt away, but firm hands held her in place.

_Of all the people to find out—_

“Don’t.” His voice dipped low, eyes dancing with mirth as he smiled with his teeth. “Don’t give it away.” He bucked his hips, grinding his stiffening cock against her smallclothes, the scene hidden under layers of blankets.

_She could never talk her way out—_

_No excuse she could find—_

_“Emet-Selch,”_ she warned, but it was frail against the cacophony of her heartbeat in her ears. 

“He already knows my dear, and yet he still watches. I think we should give him a show.” 

Panic and fury and fear rose like flood waters, drowning her, a maelstrom ripping through her from the inside out.

She knew of the Exarch’s mirror in the Ocular, of what it could do. But that he would use it to _spy_ on her, peering into her private life at any point he pleased _—_

And after all she was ready to give to save this star, _he would dare—_

“Why would he do this?” The corners of her eyes stung. This moment was not for the Exarch to know.

This secret was not his to have.

“Isn’t it obvious? Jealousy, my dear. Perhaps with a hint of curiosity. That someone should grace _his_ hero’s bed, and for that someone to not be himself…” He chuckled, scratching at her scalp. “Well, I imagine he’s quite put out by what he sees.”

One of his hands slipped under the covers, his long fingers pulling her smallclothes to the side.

But she didn’t want this. Not now, or here. How could she, knowing _someone knew of this—_

In an instant both his hands disappeared from her, cold air filling the space he left behind. His palms rested on the bed sheets next to them.

“Ah, my apologies, hero.”

It took several measured breaths before she could meet his gaze.

He held up his hands in surrender. “I thought you might like to be taken before a captive audience, but I think I may have misjudged?” 

Her brows furrowed in concern at how well he could read her. 

“You,” he started, slowly lowering his hands to lay with fingers splayed against her back, “have been nothing but an enthusiastic partner at our every interaction. But I can feel each one of your muscles still and taut above me, and I... realize now that it is not from anticipation, is it?”

His voice was too soft, eyes too kind. Even his hands on her back rubbed soothing circles along her shoulder blades, pads of his fingers silently seeking forgiveness for his misstep.

“Give the word and I shall take my leave, if you wish.”

_Godsdamn him._

“Stay.” Her arms snaked around as much of him as the bed under them would allow, and in turn he held her close.

She was going to save this world, and she was going to die doing it, if that’s what it took. She was not stupid. No mortal could hold this much light. 

She was going to die for the First and the Exarch would think to take from her this one pleasure. Her only relief from this unstopping march to the grave.

That it was the Ascian who tolled the bell was not lost on her.

_Godsdamn this horrible man._

_“Stay.”_ It was more broken sob than word. 

She loved him.

Even if it meant the death of her.


	6. Villain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some implied dubious consent for this chapter.
> 
> This chapter also has some references to Royal Fetish (the first part of this series), so if you haven’t read that then some parts might be a little confusing maybe?

Meriel hadn’t time before meeting with the Scions to confront the Exarch on what he had seen, but that did not worry her. If anything, it brought her time. Considering how Y’shtola regarded him with deep suspicion, he would not speak of what he saw in the group’s company, not until he heard Meriel’s side. 

But what she would say to him still eluded her. _That_ terrified her. Rarely did she go into a battle unprepared, and trying to explain to an ally why she was caught in bed with the enemy seemed an unconquerable campaign.

She had no excuse that could cover her failings.

Come meeting’s end, she’d be found out for the wretch she was.

After making a dramatic speech about the nature of the shards, Emet-Selch excused himself from the group and teleported away. Then the Scions decided to head to Eulmore the next morning to look for the last Lightwarden, giving everyone a chance to make preparations and rest. When all had agreed to the plan, they filtered out of the Ocular, until only the Exarch and Meriel remained.

The time had come. As she watched the door close, she heard the tapping footsteps of the Exarch approaching.

“Meriel?”

Something familiar in his tone caught her by surprise. That concerned voice. She had heard it somewhere, once.

But before she could place it, an unexpected portal opened between them. The Exarch’s cane clattered to the ground just as Emet-Selch got both feet onto the crystal floor. With a quick strike, the shorter man seized him by the red sash hung across his chest and forced him to bend down until they were eye level with each other.

For all the aggression from the Exarch, Emet-Selch remained unbothered. Bored. Like this was nothing more than an inconvenience.

“Well?” he asked with impatience to the Exarch’s face. “Strike me, boy. Come on now. Let’s get this over with.”

“Was it that day, in the Cabinet? Is that when you first sought her out?” the Exarch demanded through gritted teeth. “I had an ill feeling to your insistence on accompanying us.”

Emet-Selch gave a broken smile, all teeth, his weary expression twisting into one of madness. “Perhaps it was! Perhaps I had my way with your Warrior of Light in your absence. Won her favor by showing her what a worthy bedmate looked like. Though, I will admit she needed some _convincing.”_

The Exarch’s nostrils flared. The hand gripping the sash trembled.

_“You bastard.”_

Emet-Selch’s smile grew. “I am, aren’t I?”

Bewildered, Meriel took a step toward the two men. What Emet-Selch was implying was not the case at all, never had been, and especially not that day. It was not fair for him to paint himself as more of a villain than what the Exarch already assumed.

Not when the fault of all this mess laid solely with her.

She squared her shoulders. “I don’t—”

“Go on then, Exarch!” Emet-Selch raised his voice, speaking over her. “Strike me down! Defend the honor of your precious, _well-used_ hero!” A cruel laugh followed. “Lest _fear_ stills your hand—”

A cracking sound filled the Ocular. Emet-Selch stumbled from the Exarch’s grasp and clutched the side of his face, an ugly red mark blooming across his skin. The Exarch jerked like he meant to hit him again, but thought better of it, returning his arms to his side in rigid straight lines, fists clenched.

“More of an arm on you than I thought…” Emet-Selch mumbled, then straightened up and fixed his coat back into place. “Feeling better now? Got it all out of your system?”

“Stay away from her,” the Exarch growled.

Emet-Selch snorted. “I’ll do as I please.” With a flourish, he turned away and left through another portal.

The room fell silent after his departure. Only the low hum of the tower filled the air between them. The Exarch kept his face turned away, but his shoulders shook with the force of his fury.

“I implore you,” he started, voice trembling, “if he comes to you again, find me.”

Meriel looked at him for a long, quiet moment. She thought her only option was to have the truth of it out, laid bare before the Exarch and to withstand whatever came of it. But now, Emet-Selch had levied the Exarch’s assumptions against him in her favor, at his own expense.

Turning for the door, she elected not to say anything.

⸻

  
  


Embers burned in the fireplace of Emperor Solus’s room, the soft crackling falling to background noise to Meriel.

“Why did you do that?”

Under her laid Emet-Selch, stripped to his undershirt and trousers and sinking comfortably into his plush blankets on the bed. She sat on top of him and with an outstretched hand applied healing aether to his black eye. 

He shrugged. “Hardly matters if one of them thinks less of me.”

Meriel clicked her tongue, not satisfied with such an answer, and her prolonged silence and furrowed brow dragged more of an explanation from him. He sighed all too dramatically.

“If I were to come onto you, well, isn’t that a matter of course for a villain? Corrupting the good and pure and whatnot.” Reaching up, he cupped her face, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “However, were they to discover that it was their champion, their shining beacon of hope, who chased after a scoundrel such as I… There is a reason you took your books on Solus zos Galvus far from your companions that day in the rain. If they found out their trusted hero hungered for darker things, I shudder to think how they might react.”

The truth of his words settled a cold weight in her bones. Through his actions, she could maintain her trusts among her allies. And their friendships.

“But to put yourself out like that, and in such a brutish way...”

Looking up at her with tired eyes, he shrugged again, returning his hands to rest across his chest. “I have a tendency for dramatics.”

It was a simple answer, but she caught his intention behind it. He meant to save her reputation without a shade of doubt cast on her character. 

“This is all… a very kind thing for you to do, Emet-Selch.” She rested her hands atop of his, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest underneath. “But now I’m curious how all this benefits you. Seems such a hassle, for one like yourself.”

It was his turn to hold his silence, the gold of his eyes catching the light of the fire as he looked up at her. Something melancholic flashed in his expression, but faded away in a heartbeat.

“Yes. I wonder what could make me do something so foolish,” he mumbled, then brought the back of her fingers to his lips in a gentle kiss.


	7. The Parts We Play

The Beehive was everything Meriel hoped it would be—the lights nice and dimmed, the drinks stiff, and the dancers on stage fine enough for entertainment.

On her first venture to Eulmore, she could only afford a cursory visit to the establishment. But now, with Vauthry having fled to Mt. Gulg, while the others worked on repairing the Ladder she had the evening free.

Which she was spending nursing a drink in a darkened, quiet corner. The name of what filled her glass escaped her, but it was the closest thing to rum on the First. After learning the true nature of her final opponent and seeing the top of a mountain tear itself away, she craved a small comfort of home. And any barrel aged rum was a fitting drink for a daughter of Limsa Lominsa raised on pirate grog. 

But despite the briny scent of the sea and now the alcohol in her veins, something was missing. A certain Ascian had yet to appear tonight.

Meriel suspected as much, after what happened with the Exarch. That he might make himself scarce lest they ruin her cover.

Which is why, before the group left the Crystarium, she had called upon Feo Ul for help.

Now she needed the Ascian to show so she could explain her solution. And, though she loathed to admit it even to herself, a night without him felt...incomplete, now. She tried to tell herself that it was restless energy needing release, but that rang hollow.

She missed him, simple as that.

Another sip of drink. She remembered his words the first morning he brought her back to her room—

_“Well, hero, the next time you wish for my company, you need only whistle.”_

—so she whistled.

A moment passed. A server walked by with a tray full of orders, not even glancing at her.

Another moment ticked by. A portal opened next to her, and she took a swig from her drink to hide a smile. 

“Is this seat taken, hero?”

She felt the opulent loveseat sink down next to her as Emet-Selch appeared by her side.

“Good evening.” She held up her glass. “Care for a drink? They’ve said everything’s on the house for me, as thanks.”

To her surprise, he shook his head. “Contrary to what you may have read in your books on Solus, I care little for alcohol when it’s not expected of me.” Crossing his legs and relaxing back, he rested his arm atop the back of the loveseat. She took the invitation to sit snug against his side.

“‘Expected’?” she repeated, basking in the warmth of him as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

He hummed. “I do like to get fully into a character, even if that includes things I find distasteful.”

 _Does this mean that this is not an act—_ The thought died in her throat before she could voice it. She hadn’t had enough to drink to say something so foolish.

“But tell me,” Emet-Selch started with a hint of hesitation, “are you not worried about the Exarch’s prying eyes? I was surprised to hear you summon me...” 

She drew her knees under her, side-sitting in the seat so she could lean more into him. “I’ve asked a pixie friend for a favor. Were the Exarch to try his trick again and spy on me, he’ll instead have a lovely view of Il Mheg.”

Both of Emet-Selch’s brows arched high as he looked down at her. “The pixies? Those horrid things? How did you convince them to help?”

“They aren’t so bad once you get to know them, and they’re very keen on pranks. All I had to do was tell them how _inconvenienced_ the Exarch would be if his little mirror broke.” She took a swig of her drink, ice clinking as she drained it. “And it helps that I’ve an in with their King.”

Emet-Selch blinked, then let an amused smile slip. “Of course you do.” His attention turned to the dancers on stage. “Would that we could persuade him to mind his businesses without raising his suspicion. Horribly annoying.”

Meriel's expression hardened as the taste of alcohol in her mouth soured. Though she shared his wish, experience had taught her better. “Someone who crosses such boundaries is likely to do it again, no matter how nicely you ask them to stop.”

“You talk like you’ve met the type.”

“I’ve known them, yes. You meet all kinds when sailing under buccaneer flags.” She placed her empty glass on the table. Her fingers found the fur trim of his coat, threading through it idly.

It took the span of a server bringing Meriel another drink for Emet-Selch to catch her words. 

“Were you a _pirate?”_ he asked, looking down at her with brows raised once again. 

She smiled, satisfied that she could get a rise out of him twice in one evening. “I was, once. I gave it up a few years ago. Joined the Arcanist guild and made an honest living at Mealvaan’s Gate. There I met Y’shtola, and eventually the other Scions.” 

She wasn’t sure why she was telling him all this. Maybe a small, soft part of her needed him to know of the person she was before the title of ‘hero’ fell on her. Let him know there was once a time she did not slay Ascians as a job.

He tapped his chin in thought. “Back when I played Solus, I received numerous reports on pirate crews attacking Garlean ships. I didn’t think much of it but... you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Taking a small sip from her fresh glass, she looked away. “I may.”

On one Garlean ship her crew had plundered, she found a portrait of a young, dashing Emperor Solus in the hold, before she even knew who the man was. The men torched it before throwing the charred remains overboard. But she remembered his expression, the cocked brow and slight wry smile the artist captured. Bewitched her, even then, if only for a fleeting moment.

“Well, well,” he spoke with a low rumble. “Who would have thought the vaunted hero would have such an unsavory past as piracy.”

She took a long swig of rum and decided to continue this bumbling train of telling the Ascian far too much about herself.

“Only Y’shtola knows about that, actually. Besides this”—Meriel motioned between them—”I’d wager there aren’t many things she doesn’t know about me.”

Emet-Selch watched a server pass by. “You’re quite close to her, then?” He tried to sound uninterested. Too uninterested.

“You needn’t be jealous. She’s only interested in me as a friend.”

People thought of the Warrior of Light as brave, unflinching. But Meriel never could find the courage to ask Y’shtola if she wanted to be bedmates, and more like never would. The answer to that question would be plain to all who weren’t kidding themselves.

“More her loss,” Emet-Selch mumbled.

Resting her head on his shoulder, Meriel looked up at him. The shimmering neon lamplights haloed his silhouette, and she thought back to that old portrait and how he was much more stunning in person than any painter could capture.

With the help of the alcohol buzzing in her veins, she tried to memorize every detail of him. Every freckle and wrinkle, the handsome arch of his nose and how weariness ringed his golden eyes. How his lips held a painted look, though it never smeared despite her many attempts with messy kisses.

Even the way his brows pinched around his third eye when he noticed her staring, even that she wanted to remember. 

“Is something the matter, hero?”

“No, but…” She placed her second empty cup down, and waved away a server asking to refill it. “I feel like I’ve talked too much about myself tonight. What about you, Ascian? Tell me something of yourself.”

He scoffed at her question, then with gentle hands she allowed him to move her so she straddled his lap. “Is your research on Solus zos Galvus not enough anymore?” He cocked a brow, dragging his hands up her thighs on either side of him. 

“No, that’s not”—she cleared her throat—“That’s not what I mean. Not what I’m asking.” One hand pressed on his chest, the other thumbed at his medals, and she found herself unable to voice what she wanted. 

His collarbone peeked out from under his shirt, and without hesitation she leaned in to place kisses along it. The scent of firewood, _always of firewood,_ enveloped her as she mouthed up the column of his neck. But tonight he carried the scent of something else, something familiar. 

The sea, she realized. Like an ocean breeze.

He brought the hand on his chest up and placed a kiss to her palm, then one to her wrist. “How much of that drink have you had?”

“Enough.” She sucked hard at his neck, leaving a mark and earning a low whine from him. If they were getting stares, she didn’t care. The world needed to see who he belonged to that night.

“So the Ascian-slayer wishes to know more about the Ascian…” He trailed off in thought, his thumb tracing circles in her palm.

The epithet weighed heavily on her. Wanting to push the dread back down, she leaned more onto her knees to better get at him, sucking another mark under his jaw. Then her lips found his, and she led him in a slow, chaste kiss.

An apology. An infinitely laughably inadequate apology.

She had killed his kin, and now she asked for something so personal of him.

As if she had any right to ask about him beyond their bedroom play.

His fingers carded through her hair as his lips brushed against her ear. “Do you trust me?”

She froze. Would he indulge her? “Haven’t I always, even when I should have known better?” 

“That you have,” he whispered, and she felt him smile against her cheek. “I would like to take you someplace new tonight.”

Keeping the excitement from her expression, she sat back just enough to look him in the eyes.

“And where might that be?”

  
  


⸻

  
  


The lone window stretched impossibly high, itself larger than most buildings in all of Eorzea. Beyond it, a view Meriel had seen once before, when a storm had knocked her overboard many years ago—sunlight filtering down through teal ocean waves. 

They were underwater, somehow, in some sort of air pocket. That much she figured out.

The rest of the room remained shrouded in deep shadows, but the window was enough to make her feel small, out of place. Like she was trespassing.

“Where are we?” she asked, but before she could turn around, strong arms wrapped around her. Emet-Selch held her to his chest, keeping her in place.

“I ask that for now, you allow me that secret. But I’ll tell you this is more real than any of my recreations.” Between his white-gloved hands, he held up a length of black silk. “Now…”

She swallowed. “You want to blindfold me?”

“And bind you. But that can come in a moment.”

She turned enough in his embrace to see into his eyes over her shoulder, apprehension plain on her face. While they had done a myriad of things together, never had he asked to have her restrained. It was something she only allowed a few partners in the past to do.

“I wish to tell you more about me,” he explained. “Or, show you, more like, in a way. But I still have some secrets I would like to keep. The blindfold and rope will help me with that.”

The alcohol must have hit her harder than Meriel realized, because she could have sworn there was a nervous tilt to his voice.

Her gaze returned to the cloth held in front of her. This was a terrible idea, to be left so defenseless for the Ascian. But for some awful, foolish reason, she trusted him enough to nod her consent. With deft hands, he tied it around her head, and not even the light from the imposing window shone through the fabric as her vision cut off.

“Don’t be scared.” His lips brushed against the shell of her ear, and then he was gone, leaving her alone in this strange place. A heartbeat passed. 

The aether shifted around her, sudden and quick like a storm’s wind. A snap rang through the air, and she was teleported to what felt like a bed under her now prone form. Another snap left her bare, with her hands bound tight together and tied above her head with rope, putting her on display.

_[So lovely. All for me to enjoy, my precious wanderer.]_

Meriel’s body tensed. “I’m sorry?” That voice, though it rang a bit deeper, she recognized as Emet-Selch, but the language he spoke was unknown to her. More slow chime and rhythm than anything she had ever heard.

Something pressed softly to her stomach, then more at her sides. Large feather light touches trailing up her body, exploring her, until she realized—

“Oh gods, is that your hand? You’re so big—No! No, no—” she gasped quickly as he pulled away. “Keep going. S’not bad, just… surprising, is all.”

The warmth of his hand hovered just above her exposed breasts, his hesitation clear to her even without her vision.

_[This has yet to frighten you, hero?]_

Her brows furrowed under the fabric. “Emet-Selch, gentle touches from a lover are hardly frightening.” She bit her cheek as soon as the words left her mouth. The rum made her tongue loose tonight.

She heard a small exhale from somewhere far above, and he resumed his slow exploration of her body. A thumb as large as her forearm moved over her breasts. The pads of his fingers dipped in and over all her curves. Every movement from him was careful, delicate, as if she were glass under his fingertips. And she supposed she might as well be. His hand alone could easily grip fingertip to fingertip around her waist if he wanted, and the strength behind such a being like him sent a jolt between her legs. 

“Are all Ascians this big?” Except when Lahabrea and Igeyorhm fused, every Ascian she had encountered looked no different from a normal person. That they could have all been hiding such a form...

_[Once upon a time.]_

His touch left her, and she had to bite back the beg that came to the tip of her tongue for him to continue. An enormous weight shifted around her as he moved down, until hot breath ghosted over her entire lower body. With two fingers as long as her arms, he parted her legs.

 _“Emet—”_ Her voice tore off into a moan as his tongue lapped at her, big enough to cover her whole sex and inner thighs in spit.

Unlike his touches, in this he was merciless, licking at her again and again and leaving her soaked. She strained against the bindings on her arms, wanting to grab at him, grip his hair and ride his face. Her hips bucked up against him, moving in time with each drag of his tongue, until her pleasure crescendoed and sent her shuddering under his touch and crying out to the darkness around her.

He pulled away, but his breath ghosted over where she was slicked.

_[Did you already…?]_

She tried the bindings again, but the rope didn’t give. “I can keep going. _Gods!”_ she gasped as another wave of pleasure rolled through her. Already wrecked but needing more of him, so worked up she still was. “I want you in me.”

A laugh like chimes on the wind echoed above her.

_[My dear, while I admire your determination, I don’t think I will fit.]_

“My thighs,” she offered quickly, closing her legs to show him. “Pleasure yourself with my thighs.”

She heard a stuttering breath.

 _[So depraved,]_ Emet-Selch chastised, but there was a smile on his tone. The bed, which Meriel realized now must be massive, shifted around her again as he repositioned himself. Then, as easily as if she were a doll, his great hands held her legs together and up. The huge, bulbous tip of him pressed against the back of her thighs, and that alone was almost enough to send her over the edge again.

As he pushed forward, his length slowly parted her legs. His girth was too big for her to keep them flush together, but she tried her best to hold a tight fit. When his hips met her legs, the tip of his heavy cock reached all the way to her breasts. With a groan, he dragged himself back down, then up again, his movements rhythmic, but careful. On each slow thrust he covered her stomach in his pre.

Meriel shuddered with delight as she imagined what the view must be like above her—his form towering over her, face flushed, watching her become slick from use. Fingers gently rested on her shoulder to hold her in place as he rutted against her.

Her breathing turned into moans while he remained quiet, no doubt holding himself back lest he hurt her. But soon she could hear his breath grow laboured, feel his cock throb between her legs. When his hips jerked forward suddenly, he pulled away.

 _“Come on me,”_ Meriel begged, desperate for his touch, for him to use her.

The bed sank around her as he leaned forward. A gasp was her only warning before hot seed covered her from breasts to hips.

The aether in the air shifted once again. The hefty weight on the bed disappeared, replaced by the smaller, familiar weight of Emet-Selch moving to her side. Instead of using magic, he untied the ropes binding her arms with shaking fingers.

“You’ve made a mess,” she joked when he removed the blindfold. “Hope you—” The words died in her throat at the sight of him.

Hair damped from sweat, cheeks red and eyes wide, he looked upon her with a warmth that threatened to overwhelm her. Ignoring the mess on her chest, he threw his arms around her, holding her tight, broken praises tumbling from his lips as he choked on words of affection.


	8. Even in Despair...

“So this is...Amaurot, you said?”

“Mmhm. My home.”

Leaning through the oversized balcony’s railings, Meriel watched the shades passing on the street far below. “Amaurotines?” She looked over at him. “Would that be preferred over Ascian?”

Emet-Selch startled in his seat at the question. After a moment’s thought, he set his teacup down on the small table he had conjured for them. “It… I suppose. No one has ever asked.”

“Amaurotines, then.” She turned back to the city. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

After they got cleaned up and dressed from their tumble, her Scholar tendencies kicked in. She pestered him with questions about this new place she found herself, but only managed to get very little from him. He explained that it was more than a recreation, that it was an ancient city he had fixed up with what he called ‘creation magic.’ Had explained that the shades passing below were but reformed shadows of the city’s long deceased citizens.

Meriel had listened with rapt attention. The research of ancient cities led her to study Nym and the art of the Nymian Scholar. And to learn that there was once a city as magnificent as this, just offshore of Limsa Lominsa, if the First and Source lined up like how she thought they did, sent her mind racing.

That the city seemed so familiar, so hauntingly familiar, only fueled her desire to learn more. 

She glanced up. Under a sea lit by eternal Light from above, there was no way to tell the time of day, but she knew it had to be at least morning by now.

As if sensing her concern, Emet-Selch came up behind her and placed his hands on her hips. “Would you like me to bring you back?”

She faltered. Her hands tightened around the wrought-iron railings.

The others were probably still working on the Ladder, she reasoned.

She could afford to steal a few more bells with him.

Once she faced Vauthry, this would all come to an end, anyway. This small happiness she had found would disappear.

“Can I stay here?” she asked. “For a little while longer.”

“You may stay as long as you like, my weary wanderer.” Leaning in, he kissed up her neck with a smile on his lips.

  
  


⸻

  
  


Meriel greeted the next morning far under teal ocean waves, in a room dressed in shadows and on a bed much too large for either of them.

Emet-Selch’s fingers scratched at her scalp, his touch gentle at first. 

“Such a good girl,” he breathed, then tightened his grip and pulled on her hair in a wordless demand for more.

She hallowed her cheeks. Throwing his head back, he groaned, hips flinching upward to meet her lips on their way down. Relaxing her jaw, she allowed him to hold her head in place as he took his pleasure from her willing mouth. It didn’t take long before his thighs twitched and flexed, and when he tried to pull away, she chased after him and swallowed around his girth.

With a sputtering moan, he curled in on himself with his hands in her hair, his cock throbbing and spilling down her throat in thick strings. 

_“Such_ a good girl,” he sighed as she licked up every drop.

  
  


⸻

  
  


The next day, after hounding him with more questions about Amaurot, Meriel wore away enough at his guard and convinced him to take her to ground level.

Along the quiet streets, the shades towered over her, looking down at her with mutual curiosity.

“Is that—Is that how big you were?” She pointed at one, smiling.

To her immense amusement, a _blush_ turned his cheeks pink.

He didn’t answer, and instead turned away to continue hurrying down the road, the skirts of his regalia swooshing behind him.

“You wanted to see the city, yes? Come, before I change my mind.”

  
  


⸻

  
  


The day after that, while touring the farthest outskirts of the city, she met the shade called Hythlodaeus, much to Emet-Selch’s dismay. He turned out to be incredibly amusing. More aware of his situation than the others, Meriel spent an entire afternoon listening as he regaled her with as many tales from his life that he could remember.

“All of that for some grapes?” Laying on the cool grass of a small park, Meriel watched the teal waves far above.

 _[Oh yes,]_ the shade said cheerfully, speaking in the same language Emet-Selch had before. _[In the end, it was well worth it. Even if Hades ended up a little singed.]_

She looked over at Hythlodaeus next to her. “‘Hades’? Was he a friend of yours?”

 _[Thank you, Hythlodaeus.]_ Emet-Selch cut in suddenly. He pushed himself off the ground the trio laid on and got to his feet. [ _But I think we should be going.]_

_[Did I say something wrong, most eminent Emet-Selch?]_ the shade asked, but there was a tease in his innocent tone.

_[Far too much, as per usual.]_

_[I only say what you cannot, my friend.]_

Sitting to her elbows, Meriel watched the slight Emet-Selch level a glare at the massive shade, who responded with an amused chuckle.

⸻

  
  


It was a full four days before he asked again if she wanted to be brought home.

She shuddered, the breath from his question cool on her sex as they laid on the bed together. While he waited for an answer, his tongue languidly lapped at her entrance, cleaning her from their coupling.

“Are you in a hurry to be rid of me?” she asked, though she knew she was stalling.

“Do not mistake me, I’m pleased that you've chosen to spend this time in my company.”

The moments ticked by in silence. A war waged in her mind on what to say, if she should even say anything at all. She knew he would not press her on this if she kept her silence.

Dragging her hands down her face, she let out a long breath through her teeth. “I’m being selfish, is what it is.”

“And why’s that?” Using his thumbs, he parted her folds and licked a stripe up her slit.

Maybe it was the post sex haze making her soft, but she finally settled on being forward with him. She couldn’t run from the truth forever. Neither of them could.

“If I defeat Vauthry, the Light will kill me.”

“Tsk, tsk. Such pessimism.”

“Realistic,” she mumbled. “I can feel it, even know. Under my skin, the Light is waiting to break free.”

He hummed, circling the pad of this thumb around her entrance. “You say you’re being selfish, but is it selfish to want to live?”

“In this case,” Meriel said under her breath. “You know, people who take to the pirate’s life are the ones most selfish. We hunt, steal, take what isn’t ours for our own gain, regardless of who gets hurt. Bend knee to no one save the captain.” She sighed again and rubbed her eyes. “Perhaps I haven’t grown out of those tendencies as much as I thought I had.”

After placing a kiss to her mound, Emet-Selch moved up the bed until he was on top of her again. “Mayhap you need another round? To ease your worries?” Leaning down, he mouthed at her neck, sucking hard as he rubbed his stiffening member up against her slit. Her arms wrapped around him and she tilted her hips up, his slow teasing making her more than ready to take him again.

But before his hips could push forward, his body stilled above her.

“Something the matter?” she asked.

Brows furrowed, hesitation bled through his expression as his attention turned to the large window. Unseen to her, his eyes searched for something outside, then flicked back to her, the lines on his brow depending as he gazed down at her with intent.

He was deciding on if he should tell her the truth.

“Emet-Selch...” she warned.

His mouth became a thin line. “We have trespassers into our home. I can go greet them alone.”

Heartbeat stopped, she froze at his words, her eyes searching his face, but she knew the answer before she asked. “Who is it?” 

“Your companions have somehow found their way down here.”

She sucked in a sharp breath.

That they should find the means to come for her, even at the bottom of the ocean, spoke to their determination, and their concern for her. Even if Emet-Selch sent them away, they would come again. Again and again, until they found her, and brought her back up to the Light.

Seldom did she know dread as deep as this.

Her hands on his shoulders trembled. She closed her eyes and with a quicken pulse she summoned all her strength.

“Take me to them.”

  
  


⸻

  
  


Hidden atop a nearby building, she watched the Scions call for her, desperation on their every plea, stabbing at her chest with each cry of her name.

“I need to go back.” Her voice was a flatline to her ears. Nerves made her pick at the bottom hem to her skirt. “I need to end this.”

Emet-Selch stood apart from her, his regalia weighing his shoulders down in a curve. “They will send you to your death.”

“I know. But I can’t keep hiding. The First must be saved.”

“It is not selfish to want to live, hero.”

She sighed into her hands, not wanting to argue with him on this.

She didn’t notice he had moved to her side until his hand came to rest on her waist.

“If you truly desire to return to them, I will oblige you,” he said with eyes trained forward. “But before I do, I have a selfish request of my own to make.”

  
  


⸻

  
  


They stood alone in the small park he had taken her to before. A flick of his wrist, and something appeared in his hand. He held it out to her. On his white gloved palm sat a fiery orange crystal, with a circular design etched in its center. Meriel took it from him, turning it over in her hand. It glowed with a faint warmth, as if aether pulsed just under its surface.

Emet-Selch gazed down at her with eyes gone cold, like golden coins at the bottom of a well. “After all this is done, should you survive, I want you to defeat Elidibus and bring his duty to an end.”

His words set her on guard. “What do you mean?” she asked “You want me to fight him?”

He took a shaky breath in, and that sent a chill down her spine. “I am tempered, hero. Duty bound to Lord Zodiark’s will. As was Lahabrea and as is Elidibus. If you survive what comes next, I need you to free him from his bonds as well. Promise me you’ll do this.”

“But what of you?”

A dark look flashed across his face. Fear taking hold, she tried to step away, but his hand shot out to catch hers. In a swift motion, he jerked her forward, making her fall against his chest. His arms came down around her, caging her in and pinning her to him so hard she could scarcely breathe.

“Elidibus cannot be left to toil _alone—”_ His voice broke, his body shook. Taking in a deep breath, he started again. “Because of Lord Zodiark’s influence, my aether is aspected toward Darkness. Were you to bring the Light to bear against me, I might be enough to null it.”

Her body went rigid. “I won’t kill you.”

“Understand, _my dear,”_ —his grip around her tightened enough for her to give a pained whine—“Lord Zodiark does not allow me to grant any who oppose Him, oppose _Rejoinings,_ mercy. It is my sworn duty to serve Him and all that entails, _do you understand?”_

“I won’t kill—”

“After you defeat the last Lightwarden, I will raise my hand against you and yours to ensure the Light spills forth and engulfs this world.” He bent down to whisper harshly against her ear. “What do you say now? Will you still show me mercy, even when I’ve already decided to kill you?”

With her everything she pushed free from him, sending him stumbling back. 

She had known it would come to this, someday. Known she would be pitted against him, as she had with all his kind before, regardless of her damnable feelings. 

But somehow, now that it laid bare between them, her despair gave way to a vibrant, burning determination.

“This is madness. I won’t kill you. I can save the First and myself without killing you!” Fate be damned, she would not lose this happiness she had found.

 _“Oh, really?”_ With long strides he closed the space between them, drawing himself to his full height and looming over her, but she stood her ground. His voice lowered to a dangerous whisper, like a snake’s hiss. “Lord Zodiark has allowed me this pleasure with you because you have not been a threat to the Rejoining, languishing in the depths with me as you have been. The Light would have bled out of you eventually. He will even allow me to send you to fight Vauthry, if it leads to your demise. This, He allows, and _only_ _this.”_ His unnerving calm expression gave way to a crazed curl of his lip. “When the time comes, use me, hero, or die. It is that simple.”

“I won’t kill you.” Her eyes held his, unwavering. Even as he bore down on her, defiance swelled in her chest. She held the crystal close to her heart with a trembling fist.

“I will save everyone," she said with every ilm of conviction her shaking body could give. "There has to be another way!”


	9. ...There is Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update today! Be sure to read the last chapter before this one <3

_“There has to be another way!”_

Something old and forgotten rattled free in Emet-Selch’s chest at her words.

For that moment, the Azem he remembered shone through. Bright. Determined. Ready to charge headfirst into danger to save those most dear to her.

As promised, he returned her to the Scions, then resumed his shadowy vigil. The others hadn’t taken well to her absence and bombarded her with question upon question. But she gave none of them an explanation, suffered not their worried glances when she hurried back to the surface. 

Her eyes shone with a singular focus.

In the coming days, while the others worked to build a talos to reach the heavens, she ran herself to exhaustion with trips to the Cabinet, or to the Source. Books upon books filled her room. Sleep only found her when it took her by surprise, food only taken when her companions forced meals on her.

She was desperate to save him, to save them both. But Emet-Selch knew she laboured under false hope. 

As Azem had done before.

In so many ways they were alike. 

Almost, but not quite. She went by Meriel now, though he never could bring himself to call her that out loud. Fair enough, he supposed. He had never told her his name, save for Hythlodaeus’s cheeky slip.

At least she had Azem’s soulstone. That was enough. When the time came for her to stand against Elidibus—and Emet-Selch knew such a time would come—the spell imbued within the crystal would call allies to her side. She would not face the Emissary alone.

Would that he could help her bring the Convocation’s duty to an end, but alas…

He was so, so tired.

Rest would not be so bad.

  
  


⸻

  
  


Vauthry lay defeated. As the last of the Light channeled into Meriel, just as she predicted, her sundered body started to fail under the force of the aether. The Scions could only watch in horror until the Exarch stepped forward.

He was more clever than Emet-Selch had given him credit for. To take all that Light and bring it safely to the rift—it was a sound plan. It could save their hero.

Lord Zodiark’s will rose within him. A clawing on the inside of his skull, the cacophony of voices urging him to action.

Heavy in his hand, he drew the gun he had used many times as Solus.

He could not let this Light go to waste.

Lord Zodiark demanded a Rejoining.

  
  


⸻

  
  


In the streets of Amaurot, Meriel did not cry out for him. She did not look for him.

Even as he spoke of the Final Days before the backdrop of a flaming Amaurot, of his single-minded goal to reunite the shards, she held his gaze with a defiance still burning in her eyes, even as streaks of tears stained her cheeks.

  
  


⸻

  
  


The Light hit him true.

It surged through him, tearing through his aether, overtaking the Darkness within. A flood of Light, pure, burning _Light,_ it would be more than enough to rend him apart, unable to reform on his own.

Just as he hoped.

Elidibus will be so disappointed in him, but he was in safe hands now. Meriel will free him. 

Soon, they will both be free.

A jolt of pain wracked him. Lord Zodiark’s voice rang loud in his ears, a chorus of the lives Emet-Selch could not save. Of those he had lost. Of those he had failed.

But it faded, and with it went the pain. His world grew dark.

With a slight smile, he gave Meriel his last request. To remember.

She made to run for him, arm outstretched—

  
  


Then there was nothing.

  
  
  
  


Only infinite darkness.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_“No…”_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He was so tired.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_“No!”_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


So tired of being alone.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_He’s laying in a field of yellow flowers under a midday sun. Amaurot stands tall in the distance._

_“Hades.”_

_Azem’s voice rings out. He can feel her sitting next to him._

_“Hades, you stupid man,” she says with as much love as one could put into those words. “I still need you.”_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


A pulling force—

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Slowly—

  
  
  


This was familiar—

  
  
  
  
  
  


This summoning—

  
  
  
  


Eons past, in a world whole—

  
  
  
  


His vision came back to him in a blinding light. 

Looking down—

Azem’s spell haloed Meriel like a spider’s golden web, the crystal glowing bright in her hands. 

The invocation clawed him back from the abyss, pieced together the shattered fragments of his soul and weaved their bonds anew, the stain of Zodiark’s influence expunged.

He gasped for air, and it tasted sweet on his tongue. 

Meriel choked on her cries for him, her feet carrying her across the platform, but she stopped short, craning her neck to look up at him. Azem’s spell had brought him back as his true self.

A plea struggled through her sobs.

_“Stay with me.”_

The spell around them faded. Standing tall, Hades smiled, and for once it reached his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m actually a sucker for happy ends lol
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


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